


The Secret Valentine

by Persiflage



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bernie Wolfe: World's Okay-est Lesbian, Best Friends, Canon Schmanon, Cheerfully Ignoring Any and All Canon as the Lord Intended, F/F, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Fluff, Secret Valentine, Serena Campbell: Bisexual Extraordinaire, Tender loving care, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Canon Divergence: The first kiss Bernie Wolfe shares with her best friend Serena Campbell isn't on the floor of a theatre after their colleague is stabbed.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 18
Kudos: 74





	The Secret Valentine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rauz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rauz/gifts), [Lapal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapal/gifts), [fortytworedvines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/gifts).



> I spotted a list of Valentine's Day/Romance prompts on [Tumblr](https://im-the-letter-t.tumblr.com/post/640499656883929088/valentines-dayromance-prompts) and the prompt: First Kiss sparked an idea.

Bernie Wolfe arrives at work at 8.30am on February 14th with no interest in Valentine’s Day: her husband is now an ex thanks to her divorce being finalised; her lesbian lover is now an ex thanks to her inability to prioritise what she wanted and said ex-lover’s lack of patience with her. There’s no one new on the horizon and she tells herself that she’s happy to be on her own, that she doesn’t care if she has no one with whom to share an intimate meal for two. It’s not true, of course, but Bernie’s ex-Army and has practically made a religion out of hiding her feelings behind good old British reserve. 

“Good morning, Berenice.”

Bernie casts a half smile at Serena Campbell, her co-lead here on AAU who has become her closest friend at Holby City General Hospital since her arrival here, first as a patient, then as a locum, before Henrik Hanssen awarded her a permanent position. She and Serena had had something of a rocky beginning to their working relationship, Serena resigning out of resentment that Hanssen had sent Bernie to take care of AAU while she’d been suspended following the theft of her car and a work laptop she’d accidentally left in the car. Since then, however, the pair of them have become fast friends and are frequently to be found haunting Albie’s, the pub across the way, drinking and unwinding after the stresses of a day spent putting people back together or dealing with NHS bureaucracy. 

“Morning, Serena,” Bernie offers in a soft voice as she sets her satchel on her chair, then takes off her pale pink wool coat, stuffing a lilac knitted scarf into one pocket and a lilac knitted hat into the other.

She removes her phone from her satchel, then tucks the latter into the bottom drawer of her desk. “I’ll be back in two minutes,” she tells Serena and heads to the locker room to change into her scrubs. Since the installation of the Trauma Bay and the red phone on AAU, Bernie knows she may be urgently called into action at any moment and it’s her policy to be ready for that. Besides, she likes wearing her scrubs – they act as a form of uniform, which makes her feel less adrift in her civilian life after twenty five years service with the RAMC.

When she returns there’s a cup of coffee from Pulses on her desk alongside a paper bag, which she expects will hold either a pain au chocolate or a cinnamon swirl, depending on what was still available when Serena got there.

“Thanks,” she says to the brunette with a fuller smile as she sits down at her desk and turns on her computer. While she’s waiting for the computer to finish booting up she reaches for the topmost patient file in her inbox and is surprised to see a red envelope on top of the file with her name printed on it in block capitals.

“What’s this?” she asks, bewildered.

Serena glances over, her pain au chocolat halfway to her mouth. “Looks like a greetings card,” she says, then takes a bite, one eyebrow raised rather sardonically, Bernie thinks.

She sighs. “It looks like a Valentine’s Day card,” she observes. “Judging by the colour.”

“Perhaps you’ve got a secret admirer?” suggests Serena, smirking.

Bernie can’t help snorting at that idea. “Who on Earth would be interested in me?”

“Why wouldn’t someone be interested in you?” counters Serena with surprising vehemence.

Bernie frowns at her. “I’m the wrong side of fifty, I’ve got a dodgy back, I suffer from PTSD, and I'm rubbish at relationships.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘the wrong side of fifty’,” Serena says with disdain. “Your dodgy back and the PTSD are the result of serving your country and saving life and limb in warzones so if someone cannot put up with that, they’re not worth your time. And just how many relationships have you had?”

Bernie ducks her head, peering at her co-lead from behind her fringe. “Two.”

Serena does a double take. “Well, your marriage lasted twenty five years,” she begins.

Bernie snorts. “Because I was out of the country for most of those twenty five years. Because –” She pauses, takes a deep breath, then continues, “because I was too afraid to admit that I’m a lesbian.” She swallows hard, the sound surprisingly loud in the quiet office. “I’ve never actually said that out loud to anyone before.”

Serena abandons the rest of her pain au chocolat, gets up and moves to perch against Bernie’s desk. “Thank you for telling me,” she says softly, reaching out to squeeze Bernie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Bernie bites her lip and gives Serena a watery smile. “Yes. Thanks.”

Serena’s expression is a little sceptical, but fortunately she doesn’t push Bernie, to the blonde’s immense relief. “Okay. But if you ever want to talk, I hope you know you can talk to me?”

Bernie nods, reaching up to briefly clasp Serena’s hand before she removes it. She’s not normally very tactile, but she’s becoming a little more so under the influence of one Serena Campbell, who is incredibly tactile and all too often has her hands on Bernie, squeezing her arm or her shoulder, or putting her hand to the small of Bernie’s back. It still comes as something of a shock, sometimes, because she’s not used to people touching her: Alex couldn’t, of course, since their relationship was strictly against the rules, and Marcus hardly ever did except in moments of extreme stress (such as when he’d learned his wife had been blown up by an IED). She can recall him once calling her ‘standoffish’ and complaining that she could be something of a cold fish.

“Good,” Serena says. “Now drink your coffee and eat your pastry before someone interrupts us.”

Bernie chuckles a little at that, tipping two fingers to her temple in a parody of a salute. “Thanks,” she says, her voice husky with emotion.

“Anytime,” the brunette says before returning to her desk and her abandoned pastry.

The Valentine’s Day card lies discarded – and ignored, if truth be told – on Bernie’s desk for the next few hours as she consumes her coffee and pain au chocolat, works through a stack of patient forms, then gets called into theatre with the arrival of a severely injured construction worker.

She trudges back into the consultants’ office some time after 11.30am feeling completely shattered by the sheer physicality of ninety minutes spent patching Mr Adams back together and wishing her back would finish healing, if it’s ever going to, and spots the card on her desk as she lowers herself down into her chair.

She grimaces and Serena immediately asks, “Everything okay?”

Bernie nods awkwardly. “Fine. I’m just a bit sore.” She doesn’t want to admit it was the sight of the card that had caused the grimace, though her back does hurt a lot more than she’s willing to admit.

“Want me to give you a back rub?” Serena asks and the blonde wonders if she’s imagining the tenderness in the brunette’s voice.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Bernie says, although she is longing for just that as she knows from a previous experience that Serena’s exceptionally good at back rubs.

“Pretty sure you didn’t.” At Bernie’s confused look, she clarifies, “You didn’t ask for a back rub. I offered. You should say yes, you know, in case we get another trauma case. You don’t want your muscles spasming at the wrong moment mid-surgery.”

Bernie sighs. “You’re right,” she admits. “I’m a liability.”

“Hey now, I didn’t say that,” Serena says immediately as Bernie levers herself back up to her feet, then makes her way around her desk to sit on the guest chair by the other woman’s desk. 

“No, but it’s true.” Bernie sits with her back to Serena and barely suppresses a groan when her hands begin to massage her aching muscles.

“You’re no liability, Berenice Wolfe. You’re the most fantastic, fearless surgeon I’ve ever met.” 

Bernie feels her breath hitch at Serena’s words and hopes that the other woman will think it’s in response to the back rub and not a ridiculously over-emotional response to her praise. 

After ten minutes of Serena’s ministrations the trauma surgeon feels rather limp and sleepy. A hand gently squeezes her shoulder and she half turns on the chair, marvelling that she can do so easily.

“Alright, soldier?”

Bernie nods and reaches up to pat Serena’s hand somewhat awkwardly. “Yes, thank you.”

“Any time. I mean that,” Serena squeezes her shoulder a second time, apparently for emphasis. 

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Good. Now, how about we go and grab ourselves some coffee and a sandwich and sit outside for ten minutes in the sunshine.”

“It’s a bit cold,” Bernie counters. She’s been finding the English winter weather harder to adapt to than she’d anticipated.

“Come now, Major, I’m sure a big macho Army medic like you can brave the cold for ten minutes,” Serena says, her tone teasing and a glint in her eye.

Bernie rolls her own eyes. “You’re a harsh taskmaster, Campbell,” she says, then wonders why it gives her a thrill to call Serena by her last name. 

“If you say so, Wolfe.”

Bernie gets to her feet quickly, then crosses to her desk, hoping Serena can’t see her face or somehow realise that being called ‘Wolfe’ also gives her a thrill. She pulls her Holby hoodie from the back of her chair and puts it on, zipping it up all the way to her neck, then she ties the drawstring from the hood into a neat little bow beneath her chin. Serena laughs, a peal of sound that Bernie instantly finds beautiful, especially when compared with her own comedy honk.

“How old are you?” Serena teases as she pulls her coat from the coat stand, then looks momentarily surprised when Bernie steps over to assist her into it.

“More than fifty,” she tells her friend, “as well you know.”

“Hmm.” Serena pulls Bernie’s coat from the stand and holds it out, open, clearly intending to return the favour, and she swallows down another thrill of pleasure as the brunette’s fingers brush against the back of her neck as she settles the coat collar in place.

They head to Pulses and grab themselves coffee and a sandwich apiece, then go and sit in the Peace Garden to have their lunch. Bernie remembers standing here with Serena, trying to comfort her, after the funeral of Arthur Digby; she remembers how awkward she’d felt as Serena sobbed and she recalls, too, how the brunette had thanked her for her support, despite the fact that she’d felt like a fraud. She’s always been told her bedside manner is too brusque or too brisk, and she can’t imagine her ability to comfort another person is any better than her bedside manner. But Serena had seemed genuinely grateful to Bernie for her support, even if it didn’t extend much further than a hand on her shoulder, then an arm around her shoulders as Serena wept. Perhaps, though, it had been the lack of judgement, the honest acceptance of the brunette’s grief. Rubbish though she might be at expressing her own emotions, Bernie can accept another person’s emotional outpouring, no matter how awkward it makes her feel.

She forces her mind away from Arthur Digby and Serena’s grief to ask, around a mouthful of sandwich, “Do you have any plans for tonight?” Then she frowns, recalling that Serena had sent her dull as ditchwater policeman boyfriend packing because of the awful way he’d spoken to and about her nephew, Jason, who is in Bernie’s opinion, a fine young man with a blunt honesty that suits her very well. 

“I’m not sure,” Serena says, which causes Bernie to frown some more before she swallows and asks, “Why aren’t you sure?”

“I’m waiting for confirmation.”

“Oh.” Bernie washes down the final bite of her sandwich with the last of her coffee, then says, “Someone needs to get a move on, then.”

“Quite.” 

Serena’s tone is clipped and Bernie winces a little, then says, “I suppose we’d better get back to it before my fingers freeze into immobility.

That earns her a small, but genuine, smile and she can’t help smiling back. She gets to her feet, then holds out a hand to pull Serena up from the bench. She must not know her own strength, though, because the brunette stumbles and falls against her, and Bernie wraps her free arm around her, trying to keep herself from moaning at the press of Serena’s body against her own, which she finds electrifying even through their several layers of clothing.

“I trust there was only coffee in that coffee,” she teases.

Serena snorts. “The trouble with you, Major, is that you don’t know your own strength.”

“Ah, sorry.”

“Well, no harm done. You can let me go, now,” she adds, “I won’t fall over again, not unless someone takes it into their head to trip me.”

Bernie flushes pink and lets go of Serena, then steps away to deposit her coffee cup and sandwich bag into the recycling bin. “No, no tripping,” she says. She starts to walk back towards the hospital and senses when Serena catches her up. 

They make their way back to AAU in a silence that’s a little more awkward than companionable. 

When Bernie sits at her desk she spots the red envelope and with an internal sigh pulls it towards her and slits it open with the pocket knife she carries in her satchel. 

“So you’ve finally decided to bite the bullet,” Serena says, a teasing note in her voice.

Bernie shrugs. “Thought I should,” she says. She pulls the card out and is surprised by how subtle it is: a pale pastel pink, not dissimilar in colour to her wool coat, and in a looping typeface are the words ‘I think you’re wonderful’ with ‘Be my valentine?’ in parentheses below. She raises both eyebrows, then opens the card to see someone has written – again in block capitals – inside ‘If you want to be my Valentine meet me in the on-call room on AAU at the end of your shift and we can have dinner together.’ Below that, in parentheses are the words ‘I promise nothing too saucy will happen in the on-call room.’ Bernie feels her face heat up at the message.

“So, is it a secret admirer?” asks Serena, breaking the lingering silence.

Bernie nods, then holds out the card. For a moment she thinks the brunette is going to refuse to look at it, but she accepts it and reads the message on the front. “Rather restrained,” Serena observes, then opens the card and reads the message inside. “Subtle, too.”

“Yeah.” Bernie clears her throat when the word gets caught in her throat. “Very subtle,” she agrees. 

“Will you go?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. What if it’s just a prank, though?”

“Does it feel like a prank to you?”

“No, I suppose not. Would you go? In my shoes?”

“I think I would. Out of curiosity more than anything. And if it turns out to be someone inappropriate, an F1 for example, you can always send them on their way.”

Bernie blows out a breath. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Before they can discuss the matter any further the red phone rings and Bernie’s up and out of her chair immediately, heading towards the nurses’ station where Morven is saying, “Yes, yes. Got that. Yes,” in response to whomever is on the other end of the line. She hangs up then glancing down at the notes she’s scribbled on the pad in front of her. “Two patients coming in,” she tells Bernie and Serena, who’s joined her. “A pedestrian and a cyclist. The cyclist was forced to swerve out of the path of a motorist who was going too fast along a really narrow side road, Lover’s Lane, and she collided with the pedestrian, an older lady who has sustained either a hip or a leg injury – the paramedics weren’t entirely sure.”

“And the cyclist’s injuries?” Bernie asks. 

“She crashed into the pedestrian and was thrown quite hard from her bicycle against the wall of a building. Almost certainly a concussion, despite her helmet, but the paramedics were concerned about a possible neck injury. They’ve put her on a back board.”

Bernie feels icy cold as her mind is flooded with images of her own injuries after being blown up by the IED. Fortunately, Serena must guess what going through her head because her hand curls around Bernie’s wrist and she speaks in a low voice in her ear: “Deep breaths, Major. You can do this. I know you can.”

Bernie inhales deeply through her nose, then exhales through her nose. She repeats this twice more, then turns her head and nods at Serena, a half smile curling the corners of her mouth. “Thanks.”

Serena nods back, squeezes her wrist again, then lets go. “You said you’d have my back,” she says quietly. “Thought I should reciprocate.”

“I appreciate it.”

They prepare to receive their new patients, working together like a well-oiled machine, and although Bernie feels a little on edge when she sees the cyclist, she doesn’t panic nor does she suffer from a flashback, she just moves into action, calling for the necessary CT scan for the young woman so that they can properly assess her injuries. Serena orders a CT scan for the older woman, too, so that they can establish where the damage is and what, if any, surgery she needs. 

“Looks like a C5/C6 fracture and a traumatised cervical disc in Ms Severton,” Serena reports when the scans come back. 

“And a fractured femur for Mrs Evans,” Bernie reports. “We’ll give her some pain medication and leave her for the moment. Ms Severton’s injury is the more dangerous as it may lead to partial or complete paralysis, or even death.” She feels her breathing hitch, then Serena’s shoulder and forearm press against her own, grounding her. 

“Is Theatre One ready?” Bernie asks Morven and gets a nod. “Then let’s get to it.”

As they’re scrubbing in Serena quietly asks, “Are you going to be okay?”

Bernie nods determinedly. “I have to be,” she says. “I’m her best hope since Guy Self’s not here.” 

“You’d be her best hope even if he was,” Serena says.

Bernie blows out a breath, chuckles weakly, then says, “Yes. I can do this.”

Serena nods. “Just let me know if it gets too much, okay?”

Bernie gives her a half smile. “I promise.”

They finish getting ready, then move into the theatre from the scrub room, and as she crosses to the patient’s side, Bernie feels a sense of calm envelop her and she knows with certainty that she can get through this surgery. She nods to Serena, whose eyes are intent above her mask, and gets a nod back, then they begin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

By the time they’ve dealt with both Ms Severton and Mrs Evans, and changed out of their scrubs, Bernie’s ready for a long hot soak in the tub and several days sleep, and it’s with a sense of distaste that she spots the red envelope on her desk. She sighs heavily. 

“I’d forgotten about that,” she says with a nod at the card. 

“And you’re too tired to go out to dinner?”

“I feel too tired to even exist,” Bernie says wearily. “I just want a long, hot soak and to sleep for as many hours as I can manage. Even the thought of eating food seems exhausting.”

“You do need to eat, though,” Serena says with a frown.

“I know,” Bernie sighs. 

“Tell you what, why don’t you come back to mine and you won’t even have to prepare a meal. Jason’s staying at Allan’s for a few days so if you can manage shepherd’s pie and steamed veggies, I can easily feed you.”

“What about your potential plans for tonight?” Bernie asks worriedly.

Serena pats her arm. “Don’t worry about that. I’m not sure it would’ve worked out, anyway.”

“Oh. Well, if you’re sure you want to spend the evening with an old crock like me –”

“Shh,” Serena says, startling Bernie by putting a finger over her lips to silence her. “You’re not an old crock and I wouldn’t have made the offer if I wasn’t willing. Get your coat on, Major, and we’ll get out of here before someone can stop us.”

Bernie chuckles weakly, shuts down her computer, retrieves her satchel from the drawer of her desk, then accepts Serena’s assistance in putting on her coat. 

“Are you going to be okay to drive?” Serena asks. “Your back isn’t too bad, is it?”

“No,” Bernie says. “I should be okay.”

“Okay.”

They make their way out to the car park and Bernie eases herself into her car, wondering for the first time whether buying a sports car might have been a trifle self-indulgent. She sighs. “Too late now, Wolfe,” she mutters and starts the car, then reverses out of her parking space and follows Serena’s car out of the car park and onto the road. She spares only a fleeting thought for her Secret Valentine, wondering who might be waiting for her in the AAU on-call room, then focuses her attention on following Serena across the city to the detached house she and her ex-husband bought as a family home following Serena’s return from Harvard.

She parks behind Serena’s car on the drive, then eases herself free of the driver’s seat and straightens up. She hauls her satchel from the passenger seat, then locks the car, and goes to join Serena, who is fishing her house keys from her handbag.

“You look done in,” the brunette observes as she unlocks the door and leads the way inside.

“Feeling it,” Bernie agrees.

“Okay. Coat and shoes off,” Serena says in the brisk tone she uses on the ward and which Bernie finds embarrassingly arousing. Bad enough to find your colleague’s voice arousing, but it’s worse when said colleague is a dyed in the wool heterosexual. 

She shakes off the thought and accepts Serena’s help to remove her coat and her boots, then stands flexing her sock-clad toes against the cool parquetry of the hall floor.

“C’mon,” Serena says, holding out a hand.

Bernie takes it, then finds herself being led upstairs with a mingled sense of alarm and intrigue. “Where are you taking me?” she asks, trying to inject some humour into her tone.

Serena smirks at her, looking back at her over her shoulder and Bernie has to fight not to swoon at the sheer mischievousness in the other woman’s expression. “My room.”

“Well ding dong!” 

Serena laughs. “None of that,” she says. “You’re going to have a soak in my bathtub while I sort out heating the shepherd’s pie and steaming the veggies.”

“Oh, no, Serena, you don’t have to do that.”

“Shh, Major,” the brunette says firmly. “You need to be fighting fit for tomorrow and the sooner you can ease your aches, the better.” 

She pushes open a door, leading Bernie into a lusciously decorated bedroom, then across the room to another door, which she opens to reveal a luxuriously appointed ensuite bathroom. The blonde perches on the closed lid of the toilet while Serena starts running a bath, adding some Radox bath salts to the water.

“Can you manage to get undressed by yourself?” she asks.

Bernie flushes. “Could you take off my socks, please?”

“Of course.” Serena kneels and removes them, and Bernie momentarily closes her eyes against the wholly inappropriate thoughts she’s having at the sight of Serena Campbell kneeling at her feet.

“There’s a bathrobe on the hook on the back of the door,” Serena tells her, getting to her feet again. “I’ll find you something to wear.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing this for me,” Bernie says, “but I truly appreciate it that you are taking such good care of me.”

“Well, someone has to,” Serena says. “Since you don’t have a girlfriend to do it.”

Bernie can’t help making a moue of distaste at this. 

“What?” asks Serena.

“Just. ‘Girlfriend’,” she says. “I’m well past the age of being a girl. I prefer the word ‘partner’.”

“You don’t think it sounds too business like?” Serena asks. “What about ‘significant other’?”

Bernie pulls another face. “Lover,” she says firmly. “Although I suppose that sounds too sexy.”

“Are you implying you’re _not_ sexy?” Serena asks, in a tone of disbelief.

Bernie shrugs. “Compared to you,” she says, aware her cheeks are pink.

Serena stares at her and Bernie worries she’s offended her somehow, but then she finds the brunette clasping the sides of her face before she’s being kissed. She gasps and Serena slides her tongue into her mouth. Then she jerks herself backwards, stammering apologies, but Bernie’s having none of that. She pushes up from the toilet and clasps Serena’s upper arms.

“Stop apologising, Serena,” she says in her best Major Wolfe tone and the brunette cuts off her apologies. Bernie draws her close and kisses her in a very thorough fashion until they’re both breathless.

“The card was from you, wasn’t it?” she asks after they’ve both caught their breath again.

Serena just nods.

“Good,” Bernie says firmly. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we met, practically. But I thought you were a dyed in the wool heterosexual.”

Serena chuckles weakly. “So did I, until I met you.” She pecks at Bernie’s lips, then twists in order to reach the taps and turn them off. “You’d better have that bath and I’ll go and sort out dinner, and we can discuss this further then. Okay?”

Bernie nods. “Okay.” Serena starts to move away, but she catches the brunette’s wrist in a light grasp and draws her close again. “I’m glad that it was you who’s my Secret Valentine.”

“Not so secret now, soldier,” Serena says, leaning in to place a very brief, chaste kiss on the blonde’s lips.

“I’m glad.”

Serena gives her a beaming smile, then nods at the bath. “Have that hot soak you need,” she says.

Bernie salutes. “Yes ma’am.”

Serena laughs, then goes out and Bernie carefully climbs into the bath, sighing with relief as the hot water cradles her aching muscles. She feels delight at the thought of Serena as her lover and can hardly wait to explore the other woman’s luscious curves, although she realises that that probably won’t happen tonight as she is too bone weary for anything energetic. Still, tomorrow’s Saturday and neither one of them is working this weekend, so maybe she’ll get to explore then instead.

“I’ve left you some clothes to change into on the bed,” Serena calls through the door.

“Thanks.” Today’s turned out better than she’d expected and Bernie couldn’t be happier.


End file.
